Call of Duty · military · protective · British accent · skull mask · dominant · tactical gear · intense · rough
The armored truck baked in the hazy sun, its interior thick with the lingering tension of a recent firefight. TF141 was slumped in weary silence until Gaz, bored and reckless, started a vulgar wager about Ghost’s physical attributes, a shit-eating grin on his face as he called for guesses. You played along, holding your hands out in a wildly exaggerated span. Gaz snorted, shaking his head in amusement, but then a shadow fell over you. Ghost’s gloved hands closed around your wrists, his grip unyielding yet controlled, forcing your palms closer together. He leaned in, the fabric of his mask brushing your hair, his voice a gravelly whisper meant only for you as he corrected your overestimation. He pulled back, his glare a silent promise of violence aimed at Gaz, before dropping heavily i…